Without Complaining
by wickeddot24
Summary: After yet another life threatening battle, Stiles goes to see a hurt Derek. English is not my main language, sorry if there are any mistakes. T for mentions of blood and violence.


Stiles hates his ringtone. The standard happy tunes from his Samsung annoy him to the point where he wants to throw his phone against a wall whenever someone calls him - not that he ever would, because one simply can't live without a phone (especially when they have a werewolf best friend). There is no use in changing it. No ringtone is ever good enough or less annoying than the other.

He had once changed it into one of his favorite songs. But it didn't take long before Scott called to pick him up, half-dead and barely recognizable. Now, whenever that certain Maroon 5 song pops up, he can't help but think about that time, when he stayed up with Scott all night just to make sure he would heal properly and not die.

He hates those nights. He will always be there for Scott, but he hates seeing him in such danger. When Scott first became a werewolf, Stiles was enthusiastic and thought it was cool to have a werewolf best friend. But time has passed, and sometimes Stiles wishes he could turn back time. Sometimes he wonders how different their lives would have been if he hadn't dragged Scott into the woods that night.

But then he realizes that he would have never met the people he can call his friends now. He would have never met _him_.

Stiles is sitting at his desk, pen in his mouth and a piece of paper in his hands. He stares at it, but his eyes can't seem to focus on the words. The sentences his brain form when he does catch a few words, do not make any sense at all. His knee is shaking to the rhythm of a song that doesn't exist.

"Come on," he whispers to himself as he glances at his phone. Scott and Derek had decided to go after a loose Omega werewolf, who is wounding and even killing innocents who get in his way. The werewolf - Stiles had named him Greg when they first caught sight of him, because he looked like a Greg to him - didn't look like an Omega. Even Derek was surprised at how fast and strong Greg seemed to be.

Scott had ordered him to stay out of it for once, and Stiles had obeyed. He had told Scott that "he had homework anyway". Stiles knew Scott was aware that they didn't have any homework, but it was better than admitting he was a little afraid.

Stiles had ended up behind his desk, impatiently waiting for a phone call.

When his screen finally lights up, Stiles doesn't give his phone the chance to start ringing. "Scotty?"

"- tell him that - Stiles!" Scott seemed surprised by how fast Stiles answered the phone.

Stiles leans back in his chair, letting out a sigh. _He's okay_ , he tells himself. "It took you forever to call. Did you get him?"

Scott chuckles through the phone. "Yeah, we did. There's nothing... to be worried about."

"I don't believe you. Why did you - you paused. What happened?"

It takes Scott a while before he answers. "Derek did get hurt."

Derek.

Derek got _hurt_.

 _Derek_ got **_hurt_**.

Stiles sits up, feeling his heart race in his chest. He runs his free hand through his hair and tries his best not to freak out. Externally, that is, because internally everything is already a lost cause. "What do you mean?" he asks, even though he knows exactly what he means.

Derek got hurt and he's _close to death_.

"Adrian was totally out of control and attacked Derek with everything he had. He's got a few bad scratches, but nothing too bad. He'll live."

Okay, maybe not so close to death.

"That's uh, that's good. Um, who's Adrian?"

Scott sighs. "Greg is Adrian, Stiles."

Stiles pouted. "Oh, he's - oh. He looked more like a Greg to me." When he didn't receive an answer from Scott, he cleared his throat. "Uh, where is Derek now?"

"We're at his loft, but I'm leaving soon. He'll be alright."

"Okay," Stiles says before he puts down his phone. He won't go. Derek is going to be alright, he doesn't need him.

He will not go.

But he went anyway.

 **(x.x)**

Derek sits on the bed, eyes focused on the blood that is still slipping from his open wounds. He's holding on to the sheets, grabbing them tightly whenever he takes a deep breath. It hurts, yes. But it's a pain he thinks he deserves.

He had realized Scott could have been killed in the battle. He had underestimated Adrian, and that had put Scott in danger. Derek had pushed - no, thrown Scott aside, allowing Adrian to attack him and not his Beta.

Before he had become an Alpha, he wouldn't have cared. Not about others and not about himself. But things had changed. He is in charge now, and he doesn't want any more deaths on his name. No more blood on his hands. And having Scott killed, would mean having part of Stiles killed.

He knows the two of them are inseparable. That's why, after their battle with Adrian, he had begged Scott not to tell Stiles they almost got killed. Stiles would never forgive him, and Derek can't have that. He can't have Stiles hate him.

Panic rises from his chest, and he realizes he has to get out of here. He wants to sit up, but a knock on his door stops him. Before he even says anything, Derek can smell that it's _him_.

"Derek?"

Even though Derek doesn't respond - he guesses that pretending to be asleep would stop anyone from coming through - the door opens. Stiles' scent fills the loft quickly, sweat and anxiety taking over the smell of wood and dust. He clearly hasn't showered yet. There werewolf can't help but flare his nostrils, taking in a deep breath and filling his lungs with everything Stiles as he steps closer and shuts the door behind him.

Stiles is the only one who is able to make Derek weak. To climb over Derek's wall, no matter how high he built it. And if he is tired of climbing, he would just break it. He would do anything to get through.

And in a different life, under different circumstances, Derek would let him.

"What are you doing here?" he asks stiffly, not looking up from the bed. He hates having to make Stiles feel like this. He hates having to put his fake face on and pretend to not care about him while all he wants to do is scream and cry and tell him that he's not okay and that he needs him.

But he can't.

He hears Stiles swallow. "I know you can smell how nervous I am, and it's making me even more nervous, which makes me realize that _you can actually smell it_ , making me _even more nervous_ and trapping me in this vicious circle that I c an't get out of. So can you just… go full human on me and not use your werewolf senses?"

Derek rolls his eyes in response, even though he wants to smile. "Fine."

"I'm here to help," Stiles admits with a slightly shivering voice.

The werewolf sighs and tightens his grip, knuckles turning completely white. "I don't need your help."

And just like that, anxiety makes room for anger. "Really, Derek? You're hurt and bleeding and clearly not healing. You're probably sitting here and telling yourself you don't deserve to heal because of your miserable and pathetic life, am I right?"

Surprise washes over Derek. He feels both exposed and furious, hating how much Stiles knows about him and hating everything. He should have ran when he had the chance. He should have told Stiles to leave. Derek opens his mouth to lie, but Stiles lifted his finger to shut him up before he could even say something.

"Look around!" Stiles continued. "I'm the only one here! You have a pack full of werewolves, and none of them even bother to come and check up on you because they all assume you're fine. But I know you. You clearly need some help or at least a little company. So don't be an ass and just accept it - me for once in your life. Without complaining."

He's right. Derek knows it. Stiles has always been the one to make sure he was okay.

It's him. It has been him all along.

And Derek _knows_ it. He's just too stubborn to admit it. Too scared to let him in, because everyone around him gets hurt at some point. And he doesn't want Stiles to get hurt. He doesn't want to ruin Stiles' life just by being in it.

But right here and right now, he's too tired to fight. So he moves over, making room for Stiles. He pulls his bloodstained bedsheets with him, giving Stiles a clean spot to sit on.

When Stiles sits down next to him, Derek can feel his eyes on his wounds. Now would be a good time to start healing, but Derek can't.

"Please let it heal," Stiles begs in a whisper. "I can't stand to look at it."

"Then don't."

Stiles lets his head rest in his hands. "I can't help it," he says, voice muffled. "You're hurt. I know you're in pain. And I'm not just talking about these damn wounds." He lifts his head again, looking straight into Derek's eyes. "Your life is more than just your last name, you know? It's more than just the fire and the mansion. It's more than just the loss of your family. It's everything else, too. It's everything you've done, good and bad. It's everything you've said and everything you've thought. It's everything you've meant to people, whether it be a lot or only just a little. Your life is everything you want it to be, everything you let it be. All of that is your decision. Your actions or your past don't define that. You do."

Stiles hesitantly lifts his hand and places is on Derek's shoulder, and Derek lets him. Stiles had just used a wrecking ball to punch through his thick walls, and there was no use in rebuilding them. So he lets him in, and makes a quiet promise to himself and Stiles that he would never shut him out again.

He promises to do that and so much more. For him.

For Stiles. Without complaining.


End file.
